The Crim Festival of Races

This year’s running of the Crim Festival of Races was the 30th anniversary of an event whose host city opens its doors to the world and welcomes its runners with open arms, even as the city itself struggles in its own race to recover from difficult times. The most amazing thing about races like Crim is the support the community brings to the event, and the rich history that fills the atmosphere. It is as if the people lining the streets are still cheering for the greats of yesterday, and they support the current runners as if each is a Bill Rodgers or a Greg Meyer. This was my first time running the Crim, and I was anxious to experience not just that electricity, but also to take on first hand another part of the fabled Crim — the Bradley hills.

But before you can reach those hills, you have to get past the start. I was more nervous than usual for this race because it is such a staple in the minds of all Michigan runners. I felt the pressure to perform to the best of my ability, because I knew I was representing the entire Michigan running community.

Usually I do some strides in my Adrenaline training shoes about 20 minutes before the start, but on the day of the Crim, I slipped on my Brooks T4s a little earlier in order to give myself a confidence boost with a couple of additional strides. Simple mental tricks can convince even the most seasoned runner he is lightning fast when necessary. As the start time drew near, I was aware of the intense preparation and attention to detail that the planning of the races must have demanded. I appreciated the way the Crim split up the start times in the festival of races, as it alleviated a lot of the congestion and mayhem often associated with such large events.

Our 10-mile race was soon underway without a hitch, and I took off down the brick cobblestones amidst a sea of Kenyan runners. When I first started running near the front of these huge races and experienced how these runners pushed the race from the gun, I was more than a little intimidated. As I have become more experienced, however, I’ve reached a point where the intense competition actually stirs excitement rather than fear within me.

I’ve seen my fellow Hansons-Brooks teammates improve to the point where they are no longer struggling to hold on to the Kenyans, but are racing them. I hope if I just keep plugging away, I can get there someday too. For now, though, I like to think of myself as a vulture, picking off those runners who go out too fast and run over their heads in the early miles. Patience is a big word in the vocabulary of a runner, and this race in particular tested my limits.

I was no veteran to this course, and I was forced to rely on the information my teammates had given me beforehand about the layout. Every source had said that the race was easy for the first few miles, but turned brutal at the five-mile mark. My plan was to run exactly five-minute pace for the first half of the 10-mile monster and then try to make my move on the latter portion by really pushing the hills. Even as I hit my desired splits for the first three miles, however, I noticed the course wasn’t exactly "fast and flat," as people had said. I feared that if this was the supposedly easy part, I was heading for some serious trouble.

Luckily all the music and people lining the streets kept my mind diverted from the mounting pain. At large races like this there are nearly always plenty of distractions to help take a racer’s mind off the perpetual monotony of one-foot-in-front-of-the-other. At the Crim, three miles into the race I was graciously offered a Krispy Kreme donut, which might have been a nice treat if I wasn’t sucking air. I love the weird things people find to hand out to the runners. Obviously you have the standard water and the Gatorade stations, but aid also came in the form of beer, cheese and chocolate.

As I neared the inevitable five-mile mark, I knew I was also approaching "go time," and the race was really going to start to hurt. I was 30 seconds back from the first Michigan runner, my Hansons teammate, Marty Rosendahl. While I really didn’t think I had a shot at getting back up with him, I remembered how much support the Michigan community gives our program and thought that it would be great for us to finish as the top two Michiganders, so I had to give it my best effort.

As I crested the first big hill, I remembered that the local television station always places a camera at the top in order to catch the agony on the runners’ faces. They courteously replay that delightful footage all year long on the local PBS, so I decided to smile and act as if I was out for a morning stroll. I hope I did a good job of faking it. Someone will have to tell me.

In the first couple miles of the hilly section, after my silver-screen debut, I began to catch some of the Kenyan runners, and even draw closer to Marty. I was able to maintain five-minute pace even though the effort was growing with each step. I just kept wishing all the hills would end.

At the ninth mile, I knew it was time to either throw down a big move or throw in the towel. Picking up the pace, I flew through the next half mile in 2:20 and finally closed the gap to Marty. Up ahead, I saw the turn onto the cobblestone bricks, and I knew I was almost done. Or so I thought. Here is where course knowledge really helps. I was under the impression that once you made the turn you had about 200 meters to go.

Boy, was I wrong.

I launched into a full out kick, took the turn, looked up and saw that I still had a good 500 meters left. I tried to maintain my rhythm but when Laban Moiben, the Kenyan I had been battling all race, went by me, I started to do the skeleton dance. I crossed the line in 49:45, the first Michigan finisher. Overall, I was happy with the race and was impressed with how the difficult course was quite rewarding to those who chose to race it with care.

The Crim lives up to its "festival" name, with an almost carnival-like atmosphere at the finish. The bands, ample food, and crowds of athletes made it hard to feel fatigued afterwards. They even have a screen displaying images of the end of the race and I got to watch myself grit my teeth and flail my arms towards the finish line. That got quite a few laughs from my teammates; I won’t hear the end of it soon.

It was an honor to be a part of the 30th running of this historic race. In a time when it seems easier to concede when the going gets tough, this town adopts the runner’s willpower, grits its teeth, and perseveres through the ups and downs. It is this never-yield mindset that allows the city of Flint and the Crim to showcase itself as a one of a kind race in an extraordinary city.

The author, Jeff Gaudette of the Hansons-Brooks Distance Project, was the second American finisher.